The Lesson
by SpookshowBabyx
Summary: Returning from Neverland and taking heed of their new antagonist; Regina strives to teach Emma magic... Much to her displeasure. Set within the current (part 2 of S3) series, but before/ disregarding the 'bridge' lesson.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_I believe I might be a masochist in writer's form. I'm- supposedly- trying to wrap up my fics to focus on my own work... But... My goddaughter wanted a bedtime story based around Regina teaching Emma magic (she's still at Neverland stage with watching, and is 4, so has no idea why her favourite characters please me so much) and... well... this happened. Language aside, this was close to what was told under the influence of rum and cookies tonight... I have a feeling the rest might be altered slightly for younger ears! Hope you enjoy :) Please review:) _

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Tapping her pen against her teeth, the blonde watches as the Queen stalks back and forth before her desk; a poor name for the stack of magazines and pad of paper she rests on her lap. Leaning back against threadbare cushions and overstuffed upholstery, Emma sighs; raising a brow as the Mayor once more turns her back to her and proffers the rather splendid retreating view of the back of her skirt.

"So, you want to take attendance or something, or are we good?"

The Sheriff offers sarcastically, her eyes trained on deep crimson. She muses idly that before coming to Storybrooke, she had never much been one for fashion... Regina has changed all that, however. _Not_ to the extent that she should give a flying fuck how she dresses herself, but she upholds a curious... well... 'fascination' for the discomfort the darker woman is willing to bestow upon herself in order to really make an impression.

Smirking, Emma supposes that today is a perfect case in point; the rich scarlet cocoon of the brunette's pencil skirt hugging her mercilessly and cinching in prettily at the waist, beneath a cropped, flared blazer of the very same. The skirt is slit to proffer just the right amount of stockinged thigh to be considered proper, and the blazer hangs open to showcase the pristinely starched ivory of the shirt beneath.

Top two buttons undone.

Giving the eye very little, but the imagination much more.

Shaking herself a little distractedly from this last thought, Emma meets the disdainful glower her flippant comment has garnered with a well-practiced, stone-faced display of 'nothing'.

She herself sits with her legs crossed up underneath her; clad in a pair of nondescript pyjama shorts, and a promotional sweatshirt for an athletic event participated in_ long_ before the kid had come knocking at her door back in Boston.

She remembers that time; well, the communal changing rooms at least.

Pulling ruthlessly at the laces of her sneakers in that 'no-nonsense, no-mercy' way that had kept her well-regarded within her job, before turning to the scratched mirror above an identical set of sinks to tie her hair back.

She'd not won that- simply sadistic- course of mud, miles and obstacles, but her time had been pretty damn impressive, and at no point as her nikes had been pounding down on the track had she thought about the kid given up nine years before.

_Funny how things change._

Yawning pointedly when the brunette ignores her in favour of proffering her housemate's- _mother's... gotta stop doing that..._- chosen artwork a dismissive sniff, Emma puts pen to paper and proceeds doodling a series of scribbled spirals that weave in and out of each other disjointedly.

Regina fixes her with a solemn glower, before speaking airly

"To take attendance, one would need a congregation of students... This is something I have little time for, _nor_ have asked for... But it seems as though you have been somewhat _thrust_ upon me."

For lack of a comeback, the Sheriff simply exaggerates and lengthens her yawn- doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact- and scrawls her name satirically across the top of the page. Matching apathy for disdain; the Mayor sighs, and places her hands on her hips as she surveys the small collection of books she'd brought with her on this most obscure of journeys.

"Why not_ date_ it and write Hook's name at the bottom inside a little heart?"

"I didn't know this was going to be a recurring, multi-dated thing, Your Majesty, and, with all due respect; go fuck yourself."

Sienna coals flash with irritation, but then proceed simply to roll.

Had this been a year ago- _in fact, not even that!-_ such crass language and disrespect might have rendered the older woman shocked... As it is, she merely offers a small sigh and turns back to the table on which two, large paper cups hold residence along with the literature that takes centre stage.

"_Pupils_, I have neither had before, nor wanted- now, _or_ back then- but _you_, Miss Swan... Are less of a mystery to me. Double shot, extra sugar... I hope it does all the magic that skinny little waste of space at the Diner promised it would do."

She scolds; holding out one of the cups with a disgusted pull of pretty, full lips.

Cocking her head in surprise, Emma takes it; grinning slightly when she catches the markered information lining the vessel's spine. In the square left open for sugars and syrups, there sits a bulbous, sideways 8... Infinity.

Below this are scrawled a loopy 'E' and a heart.

'Thanks, Ruby'

She proffers the young waitress silently with a small smile.

Allowing no time for such soppiness, the Queen plucks a hefty book from the top of the pile and turns on the Sheriff with a hard look.

"Your childish cravings aside... You know why I'm here...?"

She awaits an answer- and she will be damned if she's going to accept any of that sarcastic, drawled drivel she has come to associate with the young blonde sprawled before her- dark eyes taking in a mussed ponytail of honey coloured- and, she is loathe to know of such things- honey_ scented_ curls tumbling down the soft cotton of the younger woman's asphalt coloured sweatshirt.

Curious, thick-rimmed glasses she has never seen before.

Mismatched socks peaking out beneath clumsily crossed limbs.

_Give me strength..._

Raising an eyebrow- waiting for Emma to answer her question- she merely thrusts the heavy book in her hands at the blonde and sniffs as the latter answers with baited flippancy

"To teach me a lesson?"

"... Correct, Miss Swan."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_To those of you that have read more of my stuff, I've said many times before that I never really know where my chapters are going until they're finished. As such, I didn't realise I'd be spending today studying palmistry... The good news is, I will apparently get married at least six times if my findings are to be trusted. So there you go... Enjoy, and please review :)_

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Taking a sip from the coffee in her hand, the blonde studies the book thrust unceremoniously upon her with open apprehension. Its covers are a curious leather- at least, she _thinks_ it's leather- and encrypted with characters foreign to any she has seen before. Frowning, she muses that while she would be the first to admit that both school and a wealth of cultural knowledge have had very little impact or presence in her life, she doesn't think this to be the reason she finds herself stumped now.

When she had lived for a while in New Hampshire before travelling a little further South, she had shared a flat with a couple of young post-grad students affectionately known as Baba and Lena. Notes left between the two had consisted of a complex array of angles and misleadingly familiar looking letters that sounded nothing like their English counterparts. Those scribbles had been confusing, but somehow _sane_, and the Sheriff supposes that being able to read 'milk', 'bread', and most importantly 'beer' in Russian might someday- _somehow_- come in useful.

She doesn't think the book Regina has presented her with will have all too much to do with groceries; be they Russian, Greek, Japanese or even fucking Arabic.

Looking back up at the brunette with a bemused frown, she shrugs and tries to give the book back.

"Can we at least start with something written in English?"

Rolling her eyes, the Mayor takes a step back and raises her palms with a firm shake of her head as she refuses the ancient pages Emma holds out to her.

"There isn't a 'Beginner's Guide to Spell Casting', or 'Magic 101', Miss Swan."

"But how am I supposed to read...Uh..."

"Elvish. Well, a rendition of the language anyway."

"... You're fucking with me..."

"I am doing no such thing."

"Elvish?_ Seriously_? I thought we were Disney rejects, not Lord of the Rings?"

Sighing theatrically, the Queen folds her arms across her chest and regards the younger woman irritably.

"If you want a history lesson on your homeland and its heritage, ask mommy and daddy for a bedtime story. I'm_ sure_ I don't need to remind you that there is a Witch at large in our small town, who has not only stolen a symbol of your father's courage, but is clearly on the lookout for further wickedness. A Witch that has erased our memories for reasons we still don't know, and might well pose a threat to our son. _You_ were the one that came to _me_ and asked to try this again, and I made it quite clear I would do so _only_ if you refrained from behaving in the asinine manner which I have grown to associate with you..."

The blonde scowls in response to this last part, but opens the book in her lap with a defeated sigh of

"Fine... Elvish it is..."

Smirking as she adopts a less hostile stance and sips delicately from her own coffee, the Mayor confides

"I was first a student, and then a Queen, but my attention was always focused very much towards one sole cause... And I can tell you now that that 'cause' had very little to do with mastering the many tongues spoken by the long-dead."

"... Huh?"

"I neither speak, nor read Elvish, Miss Swan."

"But-"

"-_But_, one can learn plenty from symbols and instructive illustration. If you want to know what that book says cover to cover, take it to Belle, but I imagine the only reason you should need to do so would be to feel childishly smug about the knowledge you would then hold superseding my own."

"... Well, Madame Mayor, if you hadn't noticed... There's kind of this Wicked Witch at large in our small town, and I don't suppose my _brilliant_ academic prowess will-"

"-Have you_ quite_ finished?"

"... I'm done."

Offering a curt nod, the darker woman stalks over and points to a small slip of paper that has been used to mark a page towards the centre of the book. Waiting for Emma to open up to the right place, she takes a seat primly beside the blonde; opening her mouth to order the Sheriff to sit properly so that her bare, skinny knee isn't resting against the fine fabric of her skirt, but she decides not to waste her breath.

"The images show a basic step-by-step of positioning your hands. As you can see, it's a big book, and I have no intention of going over reading the stars or foraging for mushrooms with you, but the theory behind summoning and controlling your magic seemed like a good place to start."

Studying a selection of five images showing a simplistically minimalistic figure with obscurely detailed hands, Emma rolls her eyes as she struggles to spot the minute differences between each of them.

"Hands out front, I know! Were you not paying attention in Neverland when I-"

"-When your finger work was sloppy at best? Yes. Oh, desist with that sullen face; you did well enough, Sheriff, in fact, _most_ would probably say you preformed _remarkably_ well for a novice."

"... Can I express my big, fat lack of surprise that you're not one of them?"

"... I expect more from you. You preformed well, for a novice most definitely, but below your capabilities. You have magic, we discerned that much after you rubbed a dreamcatcher on Archie's dog in an attempt to frame me for murder-"

"- I was-"

"-Doing what anyone else would have done in your position."

"... Just so we're clear... And you're not _exactly_ allowed much room for complaint with the whole murder framing thing. I mean-"

"-Save your thoughts and recaps for your diary or this 'Facebook' Henry showed me, or whatever it is you use to vent your emotions. Punch bag, pillow, liquor; I neither know nor care. What I care about is the fact that you have a gift and a potentially debilitating one at that, and I might not always be on hand to copy."

Tapping the first of the images with an immaculately painted nail, she then holds up her own hands with the palms splayed for Emma to observe.

"The closer you can get to holding your thumbs out at a right angle, the cleaner the power flow, provided that you keep your hands level with one another when facing your target."

The blonde mimics her amiably enough, along with the insight of

"I can bend my thumbs back anyway, double jointed or something I think is what the kids in my class called it. Me and some of the boys used to-"

"-Concentrate. Unless you were able to blast dirty-kneed children across the schoolyard, I have little interest in your youthful flirtations."

Letting out a low sigh or irritation, Emma holds her hands up pointedly and awaits further instruction. She raises a brow, however, when Regina proceeds to ask what she knows of palm reading; replying uncertainly

"Uh... Not a lot. Is that stuff actually legit then?"

"Legitimate? Well... Yes and no. Are many of the old hags that profess talent in the field pure hokum? Yes. Is the entire practice to be discredited for this reason? Absolutely not. Magic stems primarily from the mind and from your simple essence, but control is often sensical and linear. The lines across your palms are valuable assets in this case."

She takes a hold of the Sheriff's hand and manipulates it so that the younger woman's palm and fingers are splayed for analyses between them; smirking at the small noise of disquiet she catches from her side.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to read your fortune or look into your future, dear. Husband and children are not on my agenda for today."

Emma chuckles as she interprets from Regina's tone that she would be unable to discern such things anyway, and she muses a little icily

"No, but that_ is_ another reason for me to get this shit down. I've been fu- I almost married a flying monkey. That's not 'okay' in my book."

The brunette grins.

"Yes, I suppose that might provide some form of personal vendetta. Do you think you would have said yes?... Henry seemed hopeful..."

"Yeah, well, _Henry_ won't have nightmares about visiting the zoo for the rest of his life... And I wish people would quit asking me that."

"I was unaware they had been. So far as I saw, your father seemed rather traumatised at the idea, simian groom or regular."

"I guess it was just a surprise. Hook asked though, and-"

"-Hook's reason for taking an interest differs somewhat from my own, I will hasten to point out..."

"... What do you mean?"

"Oh, enough! You know_ perfectly_ well what I mean... And never go into acting. They'd eat you alive."

"Will you just let it go already?"

"Oh, I think not. You see, dear, the length of time one tends to commit to teasing another depends_ greatly_ on how long the resultant reaction remains amusing. As such, I don't imagine I'll be stopping any time soon. But, if you would rather I focus my disdain towards your inability to at least copulate with the same _species,_ then-"

"-Shut up! That's... I never- he- I- Just show me the shit you want to show me with this palmistry stuff, or quit holding my hand."

Laughing as the Sheriff's cheeks bloom scarlet, the brunette clears her throat and traces the three most prominent lines that mar the blonde's palm in order.

"Life line, heart line, head line."

"Should I be worried that my life line is a hell of a lot shorter than yours?"

"Only if you put any faith in the frauds that might tell you that means anything. And let's not forget that for twenty-eight years I may not have aged, but I was most certainly _alive_. No, those lines and their direction _do_ have meaning, and I'm sure that meaning would fascinate many- especially with you being the Saviour- but I'm not one of them. Not anymore. Though it _is_ curious I suppose..."

"What is?"

"There are four lines of interest when it comes to actual palm reading."

"So?"

"You only have three."

"... Meaning?"

"Probably? Absolutely nothing. I see no fate line. It may just be very faint, or I may just not be a very good palm-reader, both of which are plausible reasons. You have to appreciate the irony, however."

"Oh, sure, I'm _overwhelmed_ with ironic glee."

Emma grumbles; tiring of having her hand held and feeling weirdly judged for what she herself believes are simply the creases caused by the shape of the bones beneath and daily use of her fingers.

"Hmmm. Anyway, as I explained; power lies in a clean flow of magic. To hold your hands with the thumbs at right angles parallel to each other allows the most simple and_ basic_ flow. But, if the lines of your heart, head and life are channeled, you will find it easier to control your magic in a way that best fits the situation. Head is an easy one... Head lines being lined up and utilised as the bridge for your 'current' if you will allows focus and unbiased power. It's what practitioners use most when relying on magic for a task or a purpose... Unfortunately, I don't think that will come into play all too often when it comes to what we are trying to do."

"Figures. What with it being the simplest and all."

The blonde sighs, and the darker woman eyes her shrewdly.

"Simplest... and least taxing. What we did when working together in Neverland was head magic."

"That was still pretty intense!"

"Yes, but you didn't_ suffer_ for it."

"How-"

"-Down in the mines... That was different. Remember how we held our hands out instead?"

"Wasn't really paying attention to where my_ hands_ were!"

"No, well, this is what I mean when I say you need to know these things and not just rely on myself as a source to mimic."

"I thought you were going to _die_!"

"Precisely. I was channeling my life force."

"Oh, well why didn't you _say_? You-"

"-More powerful, and with greater effect... but at a price."

"... You have to deem the cause worth sacrificing for...?"

Raising an eyebrow, the brunette nods, and lets go of the Sheriff's hand.

"Exactly. Not always with your_ life_, you understand... But the willingness to allow this to be the case must come into play. Understand that using your magic with your hands held out in the way ours were back in the mines won't_ automatically_ drain you of your power or place you in any danger... Control and intent play a large part in it too. You could most likely hold your hands out in any which way and be able to cast _some_ sort of magic... But 'some sort of magic' isn't good enough. Practice and understanding are key."

"Makes sense... So what now?"

Emma inquires with a dubious glance in the direction of the other books the Mayor has brought with her. Catching the object of the blonde's attention, Regina surprises her by chuckling lightly.

"It seems I underestimated how tiring trying to explain things with you interrupting all the time would be. I think we'll call it a day."

"But what about the Witch? I-"

"-Oh, I never said I was _finished_ with you, Sheriff, but the thought of studying runes with yourself on the off chance that they should come in useful is threatening to give me a migraine. I think our time would be best spent taking a rather more _practical_ approach."

"Practical? You mean-"

"-I mean I believe it's high time you put some proper clothes on and sorted yourself out. When you've managed to appropriate a style of dress that will permit you to leave the house, we will continue."

"Fine, hang on, I'll go grab some jeans-"

"-Showering and brushing your hair are also prerequisites. Meet me by the Toll Bridge at noon. Don't be late."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_We're just going to pretend the season finale never happened for this. Also, I just started a FanFic/art tumblr of (bad) little illustrations and stuff under 'spookshowbabyx', the link's on my profile here, and it would be super cool if anyone wanted to follow/ reblog/ request dodgy art in any context of the word! :) Thanks for reading, and enjoy! Please review!_

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Smiling- despite her better instincts- in response to the archer's small quip, the brunette begs her leave and tells him that she is needed elsewhere. Turning from Granny's towards the woods, her expression sours somewhat as she spies the Sheriff- of times long gone- perched on one of the old benches that flank the trees. Sighing, she mutters her farewells and stalks towards her burden with a little extra sway of her hips.

"What?"

She snaps caustically as Emma raises an eyebrow suggestively when she approaches.

"Nothing..."

The blonde grins, as the darker woman rolls her eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway, I believe I was perfectly clear as to where we were to meet?"

"Well yeah, but I had to come this way anyway to get changed- as per your request- and figured I'd just wait for you."

Emma shrugs; holding out half of her sandwich which goes cordially ignored.

"I was unaware you needed your hand held for a simple walk through the woods, Miss Swan."

Regina sniffs, starting off down the path cutting through the quick thickening trees without invite that her companion should follow. The younger woman catches her up easily and falls into step at her side; courting the stray strands of her grilled cheese in a most unladylike fashion. Eyeing her up and down irritably- an inevitable emotion when in the blonde's presence it seems- the Mayor frowns.

"You wore- what I_ assume_ were- your pyjamas to walk to your parent's house?"

"_And_ back again. Shocking, I know, what with it being like two buildings down."

"... Shocking? From you; no. But I can think of several other words for it."

"Yeah, well, _you_ wanted to meet at the crack of dawn, so-"

"-eight. I wanted to meet at eight. And why_ are_ you rooming at Granny's, anyway? Before you left, you and the Charmings had such a_ sickeningly_ adorable little Von Trapp thing going on."

"Firstly, I'm going to ignore that. Secondly, my mother's bed is in the freaking living room. Weird enough when she was just Mary Margaret, but with emotionally scarring capabilities _now_. She's going to have a baby; I don't need to know how it got in there."

The brunette laughs at this, before shooting the younger woman a poisonous look. She doesn't need Emma getting ideas that this is to become a friendly affair; one or two shared drinks with the Sheriff since her return to Storybrooke distressing enough as it is.

"Well, I imagine much the same way_ you_ did, dear."

"...Seriously?"

Sniffing- and deciding to drop this crass line of conversation now that she's gotten the last word in- Regina climbs gracefully over a fallen log while Emma clambers after her.

"Where's Henry, anyway?"

"Hook's taken him out to the docks. I think they're looking at Leroy's boat or something."

"He's with Hook?"

"He likes Hook."

"Well... The man's a pirate, not to be trusted, and has a weapon for a hand... I would ask what there might be for a twelve year old _not_ to like, if I had any delusion that _Henry's_ interests were paramount in the matter."

"... You're making an awful lot of snide comments for a woman with a crush... Do you _know_ how much self-restraint I'm using right now?"

"I can assure you I have no idea what you're talking about. And, incidentally, _I'm_ not the one letting men into my motel room while clad only in my pyjamas."

"Yes, it's a miracle I'm not pregnant, what with the infamous effect sweatshirts and boxer shorts have on all red-blooded men... And, _incidentally_... It's a bed and breakfast.

The blonde grumbles as she pulls her jacket more tightly around herself; her breath coming out in misted pants much like the Queen's. Sighing when Regina's only response is a low murmur as to how this hardly makes things any more acceptable, Emma changes tact and asks what the darker woman has planned.

"If I told you that, then I'm not sure it would work."

"... That's a little worrying."

"Hmmm... I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"Fine... But the minute you start offering me baked goods, I'm calling foul play."

The younger woman grins, but her mirth isn't matched by the brunette who frowns and turns to her irritably.

"That was then and this is now."

"I know that, I was just-"

"-Well, don't... I didn't _have_ to do what I did for you when Pan's curse hit."

Emma opens her mouth to sark back lightly that attempted murder is still a pretty big thing to sweep beneath the carpet, but the expression on the darker woman's face has her thinking better of it; instead simply muttering

"Ok, ok... Sorry."

The Mayor sniffs with false arrogance; not wanting to dwell on the irritable twinge of guilt pestering her as it always does whenever the matter is broached. She supposes things might be better if they acknowledged the subject and moved on, but she has so far found herself unable to make an attempt at doing so. If it had been a case of Emma being particularly vindictive and bringing the matter up whenever they locked horns- daily, in other words- she might not have the luxury of letting things lie, but the blonde seems to have swept the issue up in the mountainous chaos of the curse breaking and being forced to come to terms with greater things, and has yet to force such conversations.

Sighing, Regina supposes that- given what she has planned- _now_ is a rather ironic time to ponder things.

This causes a small smirk, and she allows the blonde to take the lead as they cross the rather sorry remains of the bridge; the younger woman doing so with that patent blend of carelessness and insouciance the Mayor imagines to play a large part in Emma eventually having bested her.

_Well, it's certainly not a case of wits._

"Do you think maybe we should put up a sign out here or something? Only, this doesn't seem entirely safe for use, what with the holes and rotting wood and all."

_No. Definitely not wits._

"Well, nobody_ uses_ this path save for your father, and that was only when half comatose. Perhaps something to do with the trolls that once lived beneath it, or simply because most people have_ better_ things to do than cavort around in the forest. But, if it makes you feel better, then by all means put up as many signs as your heart desires, dear; it will make a nice change for you to actually_ do_ your job."

"My _job_?! I_ left_! I'm a fucking bails bonds person! And David's been-"

"-deluding himself that he's fit for the job. Yes."

"... Are you saying you thought I_ was_?"

"I-"

"-You _were_! Go on. Say it properly! Tell me just how awesome I am."

Rolling dark eyes behind the blonde's back, Regina sniffs and wonders if pushing the younger woman from the bridge would be fatal. Either way, she imagines the resultant mess would cause her quite a headache, and so suffices with simply sighing dramatically as they cross over to the other side of the gorge.

"How come you didn't bring them, anyway?"

"Excuse me?"

"The trolls. How come you didn't bring them over too?"

"Why on earth would I want to suffer the company of trolls?"

"Hell_, I_ don't know. I mean, you brought over Miss Ginger, and hell knows this town would be a better place without _her_ glowering about, too."

"... Yes, well I didn't base my decision on whether or not those I brought over would find you to be an _insufferable_ neighbour and lodge a _complaint_ every five minutes."

"Lodged them to_ me_! That was the most insane part of it all! I mean-"

"-Miss Swan, much as I'm sure the goings on in your dilapidated old building were _spine-tinglingly_ thrilling and that you were the innocent victim in the matter, could we perhaps focus on the task at hand?"

"Well, yeah... Once you tell me what the hell we're_ doing_ out here. So far, I'm not getting the 'lesson' if that's what this is."

"I haven't started yet."

"Started _what_? And fine, when _are_ you going to start, Your Majesty?"

"Turn around."

With a pointed yawn, the younger woman does as she's told; regarding the brunette with an expectantly raised brow.

"Well? I don't get it? When are you-"

"-Now."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _I debated whether to keep this scene more in line with Regina's teaching on the show, but decided to take my own shot at it... Actually quite hard, as- cringeworthy graphics aside- I think it was a really well done scene. Hopefully this is fun too :) Enjoy, and please review!_

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_"Now."_

The brunette states calmly, before raising her hands up before her in a swift, graceful motion that juxtaposes perfectly with the younger woman's small stumble over an unruly root and confused frown.

Emma isn't kept wondering as to the Queen's intentions for long; green eyes widening in alarm as the telling crack of a snapping branch sounds from above like a gunshot. Her first instinct- her _ingrained_ instinct- is to throw her arms up over her head and pray to a god she's never believed in, but a stubborn streak that courses deep within her blood raises its voice to argue that any mayhem being caused is Regina's fault.

She lets the latter win out and raises her own palms just in time to send the large, severed limb of oak plummeting down into the gorge beside them; reducing the darker woman's deadly threat to splinters.

"Good!"

"Are you fucking _crazy_?! You almost-"

But Regina ignores such grievances and simply sighs as she gives a deft flick of her wrist; sending another, larger, hunk of wood hurtling towards the blonde.

And another.

And another.

Watching as Emma's fearful expression evolves slowly into a defiant grin; the younger woman locking her in with that unnerving gaze which glitters with understanding as she makes ever more skilful work of rendering the brunette's threats unsuccessful.

The Queen finds herself smirking back; surprised to find that she is enjoying herself immensely.

_Of course you're enjoying yourself! You've been wanting an opportunity to attack the irksome woman ever since she got here!_

True...

And she refuses to give any _other_ reason behind her sly smile even a moment's thought.

Dark coals dance with fire as the blonde turns the rotting stump of an airborne maple tree into ash a mere second away from making impact, and Regina shows her teeth in a malicious smile as the younger woman throws her head back and laughs fearlessly.

"Is that all you got!?"

Emma goads her, with her own teeth bared in an impish grin; long hair whipping around wildly behind her in the wind.

"_Please_, I've barely_ started_."

The brunette purrs back dismissively, despite finding herself inwardly both impressed and a little perturbed by the fact that Emma has kept such abilities under wraps during times of need.

Raising an eyebrow, she takes heed of the blonde's cockiness, and sends a branch rushing towards her as a means of distraction as she focuses her attention on the large oak that studs the threshold to the bridge. The errant branch changes direction for the gorge as if rebounding off of an unseen forcefield, while the ancient tree groans and cracks before making its decent down into the clearing in which they stand.

It happens quickly- the Mayor's scarlet smirk falling to an altogether less confident grimace- and she barely has time to back hurriedly out of the way as the gnarled wood shakes the ground on impact.

"...Emma?!"

The darker woman's voice is unusually high as she blinks away the irritating haze of dust born from her actions. Swallowing with an uncharacteristic sense of nervousness, she scans the chaos of leaves and branches fretfully for signs of the young woman in question.

_Oh good god, what will Henry think if I have to tell him I've succeeded in killing the Sheriff?!_

Nothing, she supposes, as the boy would have no idea who she might even be talking about... And, if she _were_ to try and explain how such a thing might have happened... Well... She doesn't imagine 'I- this town's Mayor and nothing more- was out in the woods teaching your mother magic and it got a little out of hand' would really stand up as an explanation in Henry's eyes.

"Miss Swan?!"

She tries again, edging towards the fallen tree with a frown. Pulling aside a thick veil of leaves, she lets out a low gasp as she spies a shredded scrap of garish leather skewered on a splintered twig.

"Oh god, what have I done...?"

"Well _that's_ new..."

Comes a familiarly husky drawl from her left, and she stumbles slightly in surprise; casting her attention wildly in that direction.

"Up here."

The blonde growls with a fair amount of amusement; offering the Queen an awkward smile as Regina finally looks up to find her perched within the wide bough of an elm.

"How did you..."

Dark brows furrow in confusion as the brunette's heartbeat returns somewhat to normal, and the younger woman shakes her head with a bewildered expression.

"I don't really know... I made mincemeat- or wood chips, I guess- of that branch you attacked me with, and then I felt leaves in my hair and it went dark... I just... I just closed my eyes and thought to myself... 'shit'... then I was up here."

"You... Well, what use to _me_ is this lesson if you can't even concentrate enough to understand the results?!"

The Queen cries; throwing her hands up impatiently. Emma studies her silently as she runs the tip of her tongue pensively across the back of her teeth. The incredulity of the Mayor's exclamation is pure Regina, but the darker woman's elegant features retain a chalky pallor, and her eyes are just a little bit too wide.

"About as useful to _me_ as you trying to off me with shrubbery, Madame Mayor."

She shrugs; attention wavering to the sleeve of her jacket as she fingers the ruined leather with a disgruntled sigh.

"I wasn't trying to-... I was teaching you. Just like you asked me to."

The brunette hisses poisonously, and the blonde glances back up and rolls her eyes when met with an irritable glower.

"Well, I guess I learnt..._ something_... so no harm done."

She swings her leg up over the branch and finds purchase with her hands; thus missing the Mayor's reluctantly concerned study of this process as she folds her arms across her chest and waits.

_No harm done... No... But what if she'd-_

The darker woman quells such thoughts irritably and allows her anxious observation of Emma's rather reckless descent down the tree to turn to curious appreciation of slim legs and the pale swatch of flesh revealed in her outstretched position above the waistline of her jeans.

Despite her recent shock, she finds herself thinking- as she often used to- how badly she'd like to take the blonde shopping and find her some decent attire.

_I mean, she has the figure for it..._

This explanative afterthought had always served to make her blush lightly, and this current occasion is no exception.

Waving such obscure fancies away, she rolls her eyes as the Sheriff jumps down the last couple of feet and rubs her mossy hands on her thighs.

"Graceful..."

"Thanks; I was once offered a gymnastics scholarship."

Opening her mouth to query this information, the Queen seems to think better of it and simply shakes her head. She finds she has a hard time differentiating fact from inane- entirely random- fiction when it comes to Emma's comments, and harbours neither the patience nor the actual _interest_ to categorise the two.

"You'll have to organise some sort of removal for that I expect. It would be a waste not to use the wood."

The Queen remarks; pointing to what remains of the tree.

"Yeah, that's not _really_ in my job description... Being a _bail bonds person_ and all."

"Well, there's little use for that kind of position here in Storybrooke."

"Which would _actually_ matter, _if_ I was considering moving back here."

"... You're still set on moving back to New York when this is over...?"

"_Literally_ can't wait."

"... I see."

"Look, I-"

"-Oh, I don't need an explanation, dear, I was merely asking."

"Right..."

The blonde shrugs a little awkwardly; falling behind the brunette as the latter makes her way over to the bridge. Sensing a touch of hostility in the air- at least, more so than usual- Emma sighs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans with a frown before raising her voice.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. Or did you imagine I _enjoy_ being out here in the freezing cold with only yourself for company?"

"... I... What about the rest of the lesson?"

"What about it, Miss Swan? It would seem you don't need _me_ to teach you after all. You said it yourself; all you need to do is close your eyes and curse childishly inside your head and you'll do just fine."

Regina snaps, with a little more anger than she'd intended. She isn't entirely sure where some of that rage stems from- not liking the thought of her son being ripped away once again, but accepting that his lack of memories would make things both difficult and excruciatingly painful for her own sorry heart if he were to stay- and she isn't sure she wants to ponder the matter for an answer.

The Queen's irritation isn't lost on the blonde either, and she strives to find a way to rectify whatever displeasure she has caused the darker woman; not knowing what she's _done_ to upset her- for she understands the brunette recognises their dilemma when it comes to Henry, however cruel such a thing may seem- but knowing that she is somehow to blame all the same.

"Well, okay... But can I at least ask you a question?"

"I suppose you _could_ manage, yes."

Ignoring the Mayor's baited response, Emma perches on the remains of the fallen tree and waits for Regina to unclench; the darker woman eventually relenting and adopting a less hostile stance.

"You never told me about the third line."

"I'm sorry?"

"This morning, with the elves and the books and stuff... You pointed out three lines to me, but only covered how to use two... What about the heart line?"

The brunette regards the younger woman silently for a beat, before letting out a low sigh and stalking a little closer.

_What about the heart line, indeed..._


End file.
